Loathes
by aynon
Summary: Eridan hates himself. He really, really does. Drabble? Eridan/Feferi.
1. oo1

It is dark here.

You don't know where you are, or why you're here, but you know it is dark. It surrounds you, envelopes you completely, and you are scared. It is faint and perhaps it is the only hopeful thing you have right now because it gives you a sense of self; _you_ are scared, _you_ are in this darkness right now, _your_ heart is beating: despite how little you feel right now, as if a speck of dirt in this vast ocean of sweltering blackness, you are there, however faint. You cling to yourself, claw at the soft seas of nothingness around you, searching desperately. You want to see light; you want to have hope. Hope. The prince of hope, you; thinking these kind of thoughts. How absolutely revolting. The thought sends your stomach plummeting farther into the breaches that is despair, loss, and you can't help but feel even worse. The darkness, an immense coldness, sadness, swallows you: it tightens its grasp around your throat, presses in around you from every angle, and your breath is harsh and rasp; it cuts the silence like knives, makes it all so more lonely and frightening. What does one do, in this kind of situation?

Nothing, of course.

You close your eyes tight, only then realizing you'd had them open. Of course, here, you couldn't tell; not in this kind of blackness. You want to sleep, and yet, it does not come. How long you press in on yourself, curling hands tightly around fists of hair, struggling to think; breathe - you do not know, but it is surely a long time. You search for memories, but none come, and desperation sinks even further in for you. Emotions as you haven't ever felt before curl around you as smoke would, envelope you, suffocate you, and you claw your way through them, fighting to keep sane. Maybe staying as you are is strength, maybe keeping your head out of the water called horror is one way you can redeem yourself in your own eyes - not anyone else's. Because here, you do not have anyone: not a soul, wisp of air; not a whisper, not a warm breath; not an insult, not a smiling face; not a morail, no heart breaking fondness - there is you, and only you.

And then, thinking of this, you wonder: did you have anything before this moment? Before you woke, to suffocating darkness, deep despair, was there any light, or are you only now realizing your reality? You do not know these things, and you do not realize you are imploding in on yourself, flinging away what little sanity you have left by thinking such thoughts, and you continue to think them. Were you in love, did someone love you? Was there a smiling face, bright against the never-ending horrorterrors? Was there worry felt by someone else when you, hurt, never answered them?

Did she ever cry for you?

Maybe you'll never know, or maybe you can simply hope, however pitiful. Hope, hope, hope: a light against the deep darkness. A path, lighted: a path, brightened. But what kind of path is it? Maybe the path of life, maybe the everyday routine: maybe the simple light needed to continue living, maybe the path lit was the one leading towards happiness, joy - you're unsure of this, you think, maybe all of them: maybe all of them, because now, your light is gone; your hope, joy, your everything. All of it sucked away: the light, brightly hanging there, dimming for an unfathomable long time, suddenly, completely gone.

You can't see your way any longer.

So you struggle to cut through the darkness that is loneliness, struggle to break free of the despair strangling you, growing tighter and tighter every day. You had done your best, you think, when you had no light, hope, whatsoever: you had gone on longer than expected. But now, the inevitable has happened, and you are trapped: trapped where, you don't know, but here, it is dark.

It is dark and you cannot escape it.

You wonder if you can pray long and hard enough that your hope will come back to you. Of course, you know in the back of your mind, that no matter your efforts, your love, hope, your guiding light, will never return.


	2. oo2

The face in front of you is empty: once smiling, once bright with joy and happiness, all gone, sucked away, gone off to where, you don't know. A trickle of something - is it blood? - slides down her face, to mix in with the oily liquid that is most definitely her blood: only then, watching it melt in with the dimming brightness, do you realize that is your own. It isn't your blood, you faintly realize, it is your tears.

You are crying, and when you glance down at her chest, you see why.

There is a hole there: right through her chest, right through where her heart should be. Seeing this again doesn't make it any more believable, doesn't lessen the sting the sight brings you, doesn't do anything but make you sink all the lower. Your light, your hope, your everything is fading before your very eyes.

And you, the prince of hope, can do nothing but watch.

As the glow of her skin fades, as her hand grows cold and clammy in your own, as tears messily slosh down your face onto the ground, you finally realize it. You realize why her blood covers your pants, your shoes, your shirt, your skin: and it is not because you are by her side. You are the one who has caused your own suffering: you are the one who has brought death to Feferi, you are the scum who has murdered something pure. And this brings the absolute worst kind of dirt onto you.

When the memories return, it feels as if your head has been split open with a hammer; all the pain, all the hurt, all the anger returns to you in one second. You are overwhelmed, as you see the memories run by: getting your wand, knocking out Sollux, killing Feferi and then Kanaya; and you fail to hold back a sob. If this is what knowing feels like, you think you'd rather stay unaware, however more painful it would be.

You don't know when you finally step away from her body, coldly letting her hand drop to her side, but it isn't until after a while. You thought before that you were slowly dying, but now, as you fall again back into your state of forgetfulness, you know that you've been dead for a long while. The pain of losing her, the pain of everything, it will never fade, not completely. And you need something to wash it all away: you need your hope.

But how you will get it back, you do not know.

You don't know anything, remember?


	3. oo3

The next time you feel a sense of self, there is immediate dread, because someone is rushing towards you. Who, you don't know, can't tell, can't remember, but you are sure she is wielding a weapon – a chainsaw. For the first time in a long while, you feel fear. It is as pronounced as ever, as strong as it never was, and you half choke when Kanaya is clear – brightly shining before you – and you can even smell her, she's so close, she's -

She's running past you.

But that's not it, is it? There was a pain – a sharp pain, gone as quickly as it had come, and you feel yourself falling, falling before you even realize what's happening, before you even have a clue as to how you're supposed to react or feel, but there is pain, and you are fading.

You know this is real, opposed to all the other times.

You think – for just a moment – that you don't want to die so quietly. You open your mouth to – oh, you don't know, scream? - to breathe, to say something, to rasp a question, but nothing comes, nothing more than gurgling. Thoughts aren't coming anymore, and you try to move your hands, but your fingers don't even twitch; you see your own blood then, and it scares you, almost scares you more than the sight of Feferi's blood – but nothing is; was; as horrifying as that sight.

And you – this – this is _nothing_ to grieve over.

In the seconds that you completely fade, as your own skin grows cold and clammy, as your breath leaves you for the last time, you realize a couple things. You're alone – _alone: _no one rushes over to sob over your body, no one cries out your name in horror, no one cares, but this, this is something you've come to expect. Despite that, it still stings – it still makes your dying heart ache painfully, and you choke back a sob. Tears sting your eyes, falling thick and fast to blur the shapes around you even further. And then, you realize that, despite everything, she never really loved you. Everything was fake, wasn't it? Everything in your life was nothing short of pitiful, nothing short of hated and despised, fake, disgusting.

You wished you'd figured this out sooner, you wished you'd come to this dreadful conclusion in time to apologize. But now, now you are dying: now, you cannot even apologize to her lifeless body, you cannot even rasp an apology to the air around you, you can't do anything... you never could do anything, you dully realize, because you were weak – even if you had figured out this in time, even if you could tell Feferi you were sorry, so, so sorry, you wouldn't have. You're too weak. Your breaking heart couldn't have handled it, couldn't have taken being shattered and left unrepaired again, and you're probably only realizing things now, because in death, regret is useless. These unspoken apologizes are useless, you were useless, you've always been unwanted and useless. It's all too late, you're already dead, you're dying right now, and you can't stop it.

You just wish you could have apologized. You just wish that, even though she would not accept it, you could turn back time and make things go right, make your life something not to completely frown upon in disgust.

In the end, you are only relieved by the thought that, despite everything, no one hated you more than yourself.

And that, you think as you die, is something you can stand.


End file.
